


First Showers and Foot Rubs

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Spencer’s being overly nice.  Brendon is suspicious.  And an idiot.  Pure fluff/established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Showers and Foot Rubs

First Brendon had been worried, then he was suspicious, and now he’s just confused.

It all started that morning, when Brendon woke up alone in his bunk, to a still and silent bus. He luxuriated in the quiet for a moment, stretching out as much as the space would allow. Yesterday had been stressful—up at five-thirty for interviews, equipment had run late, the sound system at the venue had been all fucked up, the showers at the venue were so seriously disgusting that no amount of heat or sweat managed to get Brendon under the spray—so it was unbelievably nice to wake up naturally for once. 

Also, something smelled _delicious_.

“What time is it? Where _is_ everyone?” he called. 

“Just after ten,” Spencer said. “And I think they went sight-seeing.” 

“Ten?” Brendon sat up as much as he could and rubbed at his eyes. “Didn’t we have an interview with the radio station this morning?” 

He was about to muster up the energy to roll out of his bunk in search of the scent, and answers, when the curtain was drawn back and Spencer sat down on the edge of the mattress. He had a heaping plate of pancakes in one hand and a mug of coffee and bottle of syrup in the other. 

“Took care of it,” Spencer said, and passed Brendon the mug. Brendon took a greedy sip. It was just how he liked, with the right amount of sugar and cream, and just a hint of hazelnut. 

“You took care of it?” Brendon asked, eyeing the plate very obviously. Spencer caught his stare and held it out for him. “You made me pancakes too? Where’d you get the syrup?” It was Brendon’s favourite brand—he and Jon had discovered it in Vermont ages ago, and now he had to special order it off their website. And he was pretty sure he hadn’t brought any with him on the tour bus. 

Spencer shrugged, gave him a secretive smile and said, “I have my ways.” Brendon smiled back, but his insides had gone cold and all he could think was _shit, shit, what did I forget?_

In the kitchenette a timer dinged and Spencer got up. “There’ll be more in a minute,” he said, and disappeared down the hall. 

Brendon scrambled for his phone, going for the calendar app. October 11th. There was nothing marked down for the date, and Brendon wracked his brain but couldn’t recall a single important thing about October other than Halloween, and that was still way too far away. 

The thing was, Brendon had no mind for dates. He was lucky he could remember Spencer’s _birthday_ , which was more than he could say about remembering his other friends’, and various members of his family. Their anniversary was in May, so it couldn’t be that, either. 

Brendon took a deep gulp of his coffee, willing his brain to wake the hell up, but to no avail. Another timer dinged and Spencer called out, “You ready for more yet?” 

“Be right there,” Brendon called, and shoved two pancakes whole into his mouth. 

*

It wasn’t like it was unheard of for Spencer to bring Brendon breakfast in bed while they were at home, but no one wanted to actually cook on the bus. The most adventurous they ever got was easy mac and frozen chicken. Like, in theory Brendon knew there was a stove eye or two, but usually those were buried under snack food wrappers and dirty dishes. Screw the syrup, where the hell had Spencer gotten the pancake mix? 

And it didn’t stop there, either. During the late breakfast, Spencer put on _Hercules_ entirely unprompted and sat through the whole thing. And then, when Brendon’s mom called and he got distracted in the chaos of his family passing the phone around to each other for over an hour, Spencer somehow stealth snuck-out. 

At first Brendon was put out, especially since Spencer had left his phone behind so Brendon couldn’t even call to ask where he was, or join him up, except then Spencer came back with Doug and all their _clean_ laundry a bit before sound check, and how could Brendon be upset about that? He’d been expecting to have to wait another four or five days at least, wearing the same stinky shit until then. 

Brendon went around all afternoon waiting for the other shoe to drop, but no one else seemed to notice anything was up, and Spencer didn’t seem upset with Brendon’s lack of reciprocation, so he did his best to go with it. 

The show went much more smoothly than the previous evening had. Also, Brendon had caught a glimpse of the shower before going on stage. The room was fucking pristine, and he was so ready to fight over first shot. Only they all stumbled offstage at the same time in a sweaty press and Spencer said, “You can have first shower,” and neither of the other guys made even the slightest sound of protest. 

That was when the suspicion caught up with Brendon. “Why? What’s wrong with the bathroom?” 

“Um,” Spencer said, giving him a weird look. “Nothing?” 

Brendon worried his bottom lip and didn’t say anything, but he inspected the shower stall very thoroughly before getting in. Everything _looked_ okay, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this was all some elaborate prank, or if there was a reason no one else was fighting over the shower. He turned the water on cautiously, but it came out clear and warm. By the time he was clean and steady pound of the water on his back had eased some of his tension, all of Brendon’s suspicion was gone. 

Which left his present state of confusion. 

*

Spencer’s the last on the bus, towelling his hair absently. Dallon’s on the phone with Breezey in the back, and Zack is out talking to fans. Ian and Brendon have been watching some inane celebrity news show and Brendon sort of half wants to call Pete and Ashlee and let them know that they’ve apparently split up. 

Ian scoots over automatically to make room for Spencer beside Brendon, which still gives Brendon this silly little rush of pleasure, even after a year and half. Spencer slumps down against Brendon’s side, smelling like Ian’s spicy shampoo. Brendon turns his face to nudge at Spencer’s cheek and Spencer kisses him lazily. 

Brendon is still somewhat bemused by the events of the day, but happy. Spencer leans back, pulling Brendon’s legs into his lap. He thumbs the arch of Brendon’s left foot and Brendon lets out a low moan of pleasure. 

Spencer chuckles and begins to roll his knuckles against the sole of Brendon’s foot with more purpose. “You don’t have to,” Brendon says, because normally he has to whine to get Spencer to rub his feet, and Spencer is probably just as worn out as him, if not more so. 

“It’s cool,” Spencer says. 

“Seriously,” Brendon says, “Spence, just, what the hell?” Spencer arches a brow at him. Brendon digs his heel in Spencer’s thigh and gives him a look. “Come on, what is going on? Pancakes, first shower, foot rub, what do you want?” 

Spencer’s fingers stop and he narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about how unless it’s like, I don’t know, our seventeen month anniversary or something, there’s nothing special about today. Except you keep doing all this stuff, so what do you want?” 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, voice icy, “I didn’t know I had to have an ulterior motive to be nice to you.” 

Brendon lets out an exasperated breath. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just. You did the interview— _by yourself_ —and you hate interviews. And the laundry!” 

Spencer shoves Brendon’s feet from his lap and stands up. “You’re an asshole,” he says, and disappears down the hall toward the bunks. 

Ian, who’s been still and silent all the while, gives Brendon a sidelong look that says he agrees with Spencer’s estimation. “What?” Brendon demands. “He’s been weird all day.” 

“Yeah,” Ian agrees, rolling his eyes and turning back to his magazine. “Dude being nice to his boyfriend. That’s just fucked up.” 

“Shut up,” Brendon mutters. He burrows down into the sofa, crossing his arms over his suddenly squirmy stomach. 

“You know he kicked us out this morning so you could sleep in?” Ian asks, just making the guilt that much worse. 

“But _why_?” Brendon bursts. 

Ian gives him a strange look. “Is it…unusual for Spencer to be nice? Because if so, you might want to re-evaluate the whole boyfriend thing.” He says, mockingly, “Are you in an abusive relationship, Brendon?” 

Brendon pulls a pillow over his head and groans, “God, I hate you so much. I’m going to be in an abusive relationship with you, in a minute.” He kicks blindly at the other end of the sofa, just to drive his point home, and makes contact with Ian’s knee. 

Ian pats Brendon’s ankle companionably. “You should totally go own up to your asshole-ish-ness.” 

Brendon _knows_ this, but it doesn’t make him any more eager to do it. Spencer’s good at holding grudges, and Brendon’s good at fucking up apologies and making things even worse. Really, they’re quite a pair. 

Spencer’s in his bunk, back to the hall, curled up with his headphones in. Brendon only hesitates a little before climbing in behind him. It’s not that great of a fit. Spencer’s tall for the bunks anyway, and even though they’re both skinny, these things weren’t made for two adult men. Especially when one of them is resisting cuddling. 

Brendon hooks his chin over Spencer’s shoulder and manages to worm an arm around Spencer’s middle. Spencer doesn’t really put up a fight, but he isn’t exactly cooperative, either. There were a thousand inappropriate ways to apologise, all running through Brendon’s head at the moment, most of which ending in sex. Dallon and Ian wouldn’t be very appreciative, though, and Spencer would probably kick him out of the bunk for even suggesting it, so. 

“What I meant to say was _thank you_ ,” is what Brendon says. 

Spencer snorts. “Sure,” he says. 

“I’m trying to apologise,” Brendon says, squeezing tighter around Spencer’s waist. 

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer says indifferently. 

Brendon huffs a sigh and tries to get closer, but Spencer’s all still and tense. If he keeps squirming, he’s going to fall out of the bed on his ass. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” He presses a kiss to Spencer’s cheek and rolls back out into the hallway. 

Ian gives him a sympathetic look when he comes back in, and says, after a while, “Grand romantic gestures are always good in a pinch.” 

*

The next day is a hotel day. They’re close enough to the venue to stop by after sound check. Spencer goes straight up for a nap and Brendon corners Doug in the lobby. “I need to use a kitchen,” he says. 

Doug doesn’t look impressed. “That’s terrific.” 

“Come on,” Brendon whines. “What good is being famous if I can’t commandeer a hotel kitchen or two?” 

“Yeah, that’s one of the perks of fame every aspiring rock star looks forward to,” Doug mutters. “Give me a couple hours.” 

*

The show goes well—even when Spencer’s pissed off he doesn’t let it influence his performance. Still, he’s not as playful as usual, and doesn’t meet Brendon’s eye for most of the night. It’s okay; Brendon has a plan. 

They get a car to the hotel and once they’re there, Spencer gets into the shower. When they’re at the hotel, Spencer can stay in the shower for ages, and his current silent treatment towards Brendon is enough incentive to keep him in there even longer. 

The hotel kitchen is mostly empty so late at night, just a few bored looking chefs hanging around listening to the radio. Doug got one of the roadies to pick up the ingredients at a nearby grocery store and the guy’s thrown in a little heart-shaped box of chocolates, too, which makes Brendon smile. Most of Brendon’s methods of apology that worked on his ex-girlfriends—flowers, jewellery, weekends at the spa—don’t so much work with Spencer. Chocolates, though, are sure to win him some points. 

It doesn’t take long to fix the meal; Spencer’s favourites are easy to make. The chefs offer to help, probably just for something to do. But, okay, and maybe it’s silly, Brendon wants to do it himself. He got the recipe from his mom ages ago, because Spencer had commented on liking it when she’d made it for them. But between their most recent recording and subsequent touring, he hasn’t had the chance to actually make it for Spencer yet. 

He raids the bar for a wine to match and ends up charging a ridiculous amount to room service for the bottle he chooses, way more than it’s actually worth, but whatever. The chefs let him take one of the room service carts and he places the covered dishes and wine glasses in what he imagines is an artful sort of way. 

In the elevator ride up, he gets a few strange looks and he can’t really blame anyone. He still hasn’t showered since the show; as soon as he secures Spencer’s goodwill, he’s going to shower for eight years solid. 

When Brendon comes into their room, Spencer’s out of the shower, stretched out over the bed in a housecoat, watching television. His hair is damp and wavy around his face and the slit in the robe shows a lot of bare thigh, plus he’s got bitch face going on, all of which adds up to Brendon sort of wanting to jump him. But. Food. 

Spencer opens his mouth like he wants to say something nasty, but then he actually looks over, eyes falling on the tray. “What’s that?” he asks, tone suspicious but hopeful. 

Brendon pushes the tray over to the table and begins to uncork the wine. “It’s your I’m-sorry-I’m-a-dickhead dinner,” he says. 

“You are a dickhead,” Spencer says, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. He gets up slowly. Brendon has to make himself look away from how the housecoat gapes open, or they’re never going to get to eat. “How’d you manage this?” 

“Bribed Doug. Probably same way you got him to help you with the laundry, or how you got Zack to take out Ian and Dallon,” Brendon says. 

Spencer crosses his arms. “So, what do you want?” he asks, and Brendon knows he’s trying pretty hard to sound pissy when he really isn’t. 

“Besides your forgiveness and undying affection?” Brendon muses. “Lots of hotel sex. I can totally own up to my ulterior motives.” 

Spencer nudges him hard in the side with his elbow. “My ulterior motive was _making you happy_ ,” he hisses. 

Brendon gives him a bright smile, “Well, obviously that, too,” he says, and goes up on his toes to press a kiss to Spencer’s mouth. Spencer is only still for a moment, probably wondering how long he can draw it out, and giving in very quickly. 

Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh when he pulls away, staring Brendon in the eye. “ _Why_ do I love you?” 

“Because of all the hot hotel sex we’re going to have,” Brendon promises. “And I made you delicious food.” He shoves Spencer toward one of the dining chairs and places one of the dishes before him, lifting the lid with a flourish. 

“Is this your mom’s recipe?” Spencer asks, sort of wonderingly. “Did you seriously make this? What the fuck?” He sounds delighted. 

“Don’t be jealous that my romantic gestures are better, baby,” Brendon teases. 

Spencer makes a sound of doubt. “Brendon, you obviously wouldn’t know romance if it brought you breakfast in bed, did your laundry, and gave you foot rubs.” 

“I’ll show you romance,” Brendon says, climbing into Spencer’s lap. “Eat your damn food, and I’ll romance you so hard.” 

“I hope you plan to shower first,” Spencer says loftily, but he’s pink in the cheeks. 

“And you say _I_ don’t know romance,” Brendon mocks. Spencer kisses him, laughing. 

**Author's Note:**

> For ashlein’s birthday request for curtain fic involving romantic gestures and stupid boys. I’m so bad at actually writing what people want. And meeting deadlines…


End file.
